


A Little Like The Snow

by FlameShe



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameShe/pseuds/FlameShe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She stifles the rest of her words against his lips, and he breathes them in, holds them in his chest; In his lungs, right next to his heart.</i> A very Merry Christmas to my Until Dawn Secret Santa (the lovely and talented) <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowLivinda/pseuds/rainbowLivinda">rainbowLivinda</a>! Have a holly jolly AUmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Like The Snow

 -

 

Sam’s toes offer a mild distraction from his thoughts. She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder haphazardly—curling into herself as she dabs at her toe once, twice, then three more times—as she adds the final touches on the Christmas tree that's now featured on her big toe. She has slender feet, and he has to resist the urge to comment on that. If she notices the weight of his gaze, she doesn't say. Josh isn't sure when she took up nail art but she has a particular knack for it. Her hands are steady and sure; they're made for things like this. She's unshakable.

“How do they look?” She wiggles her red and green patterned toes at him, lips quirking upwards.

They look nice. Amazing, actually. Sam puts her all into everything she does and he has to admit it's one of his favorite qualities about her. Almost as much as her legs. “Like a beacon of Christmas cheer that the Grinch wouldn’t want to touch with a thirty nine and a half foot pole.”

“Says the local Grinch.”

"Oh that's cold, Sammy! I'm full of Christmas spirit. I'm even wearing this ugly sweater to prove it."

"Josh, be nice! Your mother slaved over those, and ugly sweaters are a long time Christmas tradition," the laugh she offers him is gentle, and he watches her face, amused by the way her eyes reflect the Christmas lights back at him. They almost look _Christmas tree_ green.

"You'll be singing a different tune when you see she made you one to match ours!" Beth says in a sing-song voice. 

"Mom will have you singing Christmas carols with us too, just you wait," Hannah adds as she settles next to Sam, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. Josh keels over in laughter at the horror-struck look that washes over Sam's face.

"You're joking."

"Oh no. It's Washington family  _tradition_ , Sammy."

 

-

 

Sam's resilient. Resilient and beautiful and smart, and a thousand other words that he can't think of. He figures she has to know it too, because her smile lights up the room. The sweater looks just as itchy as his but somehow Sam makes it work with a pair of black leggings and cute Christmas tree earrings.

When his mother gathers them for pictures under the tree, she wiggles between him and Hannah and he jabs her in the rib with his finger. She slugs him in the shoulder then sticks her tongue out at him.

It's probably his favorite Christmas picture, even though he looks ridiculous. Seeing Sam and his sisters laughing, carefree and happy makes him feel a little more alive too.

 

-

 

He doesn't remember the way her hands shook the night they disappeared until much later. He dreams about it. Sometimes he dreams that she's gone too. She shivers, and her hands tremble. "We can't find them, Josh. Hannah and Beth, _God_ —" her voice shakes with her, and then she's gone.

 

-

 

Two years. And God does she miss them. The days snake by, tortuously slow, and she feels like she's watching everything happen from somewhere else. Somewhere quiet, and somewhere calm. Somewhere where Hannah and Beth might be waiting; watching her too. Hannah used to tell her she was the strongest person she knew. She wonders if she stills thinks that. She taps a nail against the side of her coffee mug and gnaws on her lower lip.

"I was thinking about renting a cabin," she measures each syllable and watches his face with tempered patience. He doesn't respond right away but after a second he grins in that way that's oh so painfully him. Crinkle at the corner of his mouth and all. 

"Oh really, Sammy? Need some alone time with good 'ol Josh?"

"Ugh, don't be gross," she smiles despite herself, though. There are instances where she wishes she was as good at getting him to smile as he is with her. "It could be a get-away-from-everything break, for Christmas. Like..."

"Old times?" He's not smiling anymore, but she nods.

Josh doesn't say anything for a while, sips at his coffee and drums his fingers against the table. He's thinking, maybe a little too much, but he's considering it and that's more than enough for the moment.

"Would the others be going too?" He asks, and there's a flicker of something in his green eyes that she can't explain.

"Just us."

"Oh so you _do_ want some alone time with me! How very forward of you, Samantha." That earns him a signature Sam eye roll, but he seems more at ease with that and she's grateful. "Yeah, yeah, I'll go," he says it through waves of mirth. "Some healing time, right?"

She's sure it's not something they can heal from, but she agrees with the brightest smile she can muster and only feels a little heavy when he smiles back.

 

-

 

She's wearing the sweater. The goddamn ugly sweater with the hand stitched Christmas tree and cursive S that his mom knit for her and he hadn't noticed till now. She slips out of her coat and his mouth feels dry. "How," he starts, eyeing her in wonder. "Does that still fit you?" Her eyes meet his cautiously, like she's a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. She must have stewed over whether to wear it or not, deciding it felt right in some way.  

"I haven't grown much since sophomore year," she gives a little shrug, then tugs her boots off.

"Well you've got that right."

She throws her left boot at him and it nails him right in the stomach. "Easy, tiger!"

"I play to win," Sam says with a huff and he can't help but smile. She's still Sam.

 

-

 

The cabin is nice. Small, but cozy, though he's not sure what exactly you do in a cabin that's meant for healing from your own grief. Holidays make him feel sick to his stomach; torn between wanting to think about Hannah and Beth and knowing that festering in those memories won't help him feel any better. He bounces on his heels, taps a tune on his thighs with his palms and wanders around while Sam finishes unpacking. If he's not restless, all he can do is sleep. He has to wonder if Sam notices these things; she's a smart cookie after all. Sharper than him.

"Sammy! I'm going to go for a walk!"

"Okay, don't go far," she calls from the hallway. She sounds like a mom to him and he chuckles a little before putting his coat and hat back on.

It's snowing, but he doesn't mind the cold.

 

-

 

Sam finds him a little ways away from the cabin, rolling a ball of snow that comes up to his knees. She's struck with the image of Hannah, Beth and him doing the same thing as she runs over to them, carrot and scarf in hand. Her chest tightens and the corner of her eyes sting in a way they haven't in a long time. Her mother told her that people deal with grief in a lot of different ways, and she sees that now. School had become her drug. She longs to be back in her dorm, studying so intently she can't think about anything else. Seeing Josh had grown to hurt. The ghost of her best friends trailed after him like a hazy fog. She knows he still sees them though, and for some reason she can't bring herself to part ways with him. She knows his grief; wears it like a favorite pair of jeans. And she loves him. She wants to see him thrive.

Josh deserves that.

"Have you considered getting a dog?"

His head shoots up so fast his hat almost falls off, and he squints at her as she walks over. "Can't say that I've given it much thought, but I do get very excited whenever I see one."

"You should think about it, I could help you train it."

"Ever the animal lover," he waggles his brows at her. "You know, I can be quite the animal too, if you catch my drift." He's always joking, but the thought of being with her like that makes his stomach flip. The blush that burns her nose and cheeks doesn't help.

"You definitely eat like one, Joshua."

"Ouch, ice cold, Sammy."

She grins wildly and before he can register what happened his face is becoming fast friends with a snowball.

 

-

 

He's very careful to stay on his meds. It's a little like bliss, being with her like this, and he doesn't want to ruin it. Day four, one snow-dog, five netflix movies, and many cups of vegan cocoa later, he finds Sam sitting in front of the fireplace. Her hair's in a mess of a bun and she has a blanket wrapped loose around her shoulders. She's painting her nails.

"It might be a bit much to ask to heal from this, huh?"

She blinks, then says in a soft voice, "I don't think grief is something that ever leaves you." Sam closes her bottle of nail polish and pats the spot next to her. She has her _it's time to talk_ face on, and he finds himself drawn to her side, like always. She rests her head on his shoulder and traces patterns on his arm, fingers ghosting words he can't discern. They leave goosebumps in their wake. "They'd want you to be happy, you know. They always did. Getting better isn't easy, Josh. But you've done so good, you're _doing_ so good." Her fingers find the scars on his wrists and he swallows but the lump that's formed there doesn't leave. So he looks to her, trying to read the face that he's come to know better than his own. 

"God, could you look any more like a kicked puppy?" She laughs. Then she cries. Apologies tumble from her lips, endless as she empties her guilt and her loneliness and her heartache. He rubs small circles into her shoulder and draws her closer, burying his wet face in her hair. He says he knows. That it's okay. That it's his fault too. He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth.

When her hands move to grip his face, they're shaking. She stifles the rest of her words against his lips, and he breathes them in, holds them in his chest; In his lungs, right next to his heart.

 

-

 

He asked Hannah once why she was drawn to Sam the way she was. She told him Sam was kind of like the sun. The sun makes the plants grow, it makes you want to go outside and play just to feel the warmth against your skin. You need it to live, you need it to grow.

"Isn't the snow nice too?" He asked her after. 

She had given him a pensive look then smiled wide. "The snow is nice. But without the sun, could you really learn to appreciate it?"

 

-

 

He draws patterns on her skin as she tries not to fall asleep. A dog, a house, a snowman. He traces her name into her lower back, invisible. He writes his name there, too, and she shivers. "We'll be okay," she says it quietly, barely above a whisper.

His fingers still and he brings a hand to brush hair out of her face. "You learn to live with it, right? Because you have to."

Sam nods, then raps her knuckles against his forehead. "You'll be okay." He thinks she must be right, so he closes his eyes as she rests her head on his chest and listens as his heart drums a steady tune that sings of home.

**Author's Note:**

> Grief, he thinks, is a little like the snow.


End file.
